


in sickness and in health

by twinkshish



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Desperation, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Omorashi, Sickfic, Wetting, connor is an amazing boyfriend, do not let connor cook he will burn down the house, dubious kitchen safety, its not kinky piss, let hank piss 2k38
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15872463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkshish/pseuds/twinkshish
Summary: Hank comes down with a cold. He's fine, really, but Connor insists on helping. The android's definition of "help", however, is...rather unique.





	in sickness and in health

**Author's Note:**

> this was requested by a dear friend <3 there is a disturbing lack of hank piss in this fandom,, this is homophobia and, worse, bear-phobia. twink privilege at its finest,,,,,,,, 
> 
> ((ngl i prefer hank and connor as a parental relationship but i felt that hankcon worked Better tm for this concept. i wanted them to be more on an equal playing field idk))

“Connor, what the  _ fuck  _ are you doing.”

 

The android looked up from his...whatever the hell was happening in Hank’s kitchen, LED a solid red and sleeve conspicuously on fire as the smoke alarm blared. Sumo joined in with agitated howls as smoke filled the room, and Hank felt his blood pressure rise by fifty points or so. 

 

“I am making chicken soup,” Connor replied, eerily calm. “My research has indicated that this is a crucial part in the care of a sick human.”

 

“ _ Connor—! _ ”

 

“Hank, I believe my arm is on fire. Ow.”

 

“Holy shit,” the older man groaned, aging another ten years almost immediately, his already-persistent headache growing worse. “Give me that, Connor,  _ Jesus _ , here—” He smothered the flaming pot of what might have once been some sort of bird, and doused the android’s arm in water. 

 

“Hank, please, you shouldn’t exert yourself,” Connor protested weakly, “a man of your age and health should be resting,  _ especially _ given your illness.”

 

“You were on  _ fire. _ ”

 

“An excellent deduction, Lieutenant. I now understand why you are so valued by the DPD.” 

 

“I will sell you for scrap metal.”

 

“I look forward to the sweet release of death.”

 

A hacking fit of coughing interrupted his retort. Hank gasped for breath, doubling over as Connor whacked him on the back, supporting him (because he damn well couldn’t stand up himself). This lasted for nearly a minute, and soft wheezes escaped him even as he stood up straight. He barely had the energy to protest as Connor unceremoniously shoved him to the couch, wrapping him in blankets in a lovingly aggressive way.

 

“Stay here, Hank,” he ordered, pouting ( _ pouting! _ ) and crossing his arms. “You need rest.”

 

“Just don’t burn down my fucking house,” Hank groaned, closing his eyes and waiting for the gentle embrace of sleep or death, whichever came first). 

 

He woke up to someone—Connor—shaking his shoulder gently, holding out a glass of water. Hank drank it greedily and relished in the soothing of his sore throat. Sniffling, he pulled himself up into a sort-of-sitting position as Connor snuggled up into his side. Hank blinked slowly, his head feeling all fuzzy and not entirely there, and rested his head on the android’s criminally soft brown hair. He drifted in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of Connor plying him with water every thirty minutes or so.

 

“Con…” he groaned blearily, “isn’t this kind of overkill?”

 

“You have to stay hydrated, Hank, it’s  _ good _ for you,” Connor chided, flicking the older man on the forehead. 

 

“Y’know, people have died from water poisoning.”

 

“I am monitoring your fluid intake very carefully. I will not allow that to happen to you.”

 

“That’s fucking creepy.”

 

They settled into a comfortable silence, until Connor got up, citing Hank’s need to  _ consume something other than an entire pack of saltines. _ Huffing, he flopped down onto the couch pillows, bemoaning the android’s betrayal. He listened carefully as pots and pans clanged ominously in his dinky kitchen, as the sink turned on and water gushed out and— 

 

_ Oh.  _ Hank was suddenly aware of a very pressing matter.

 

He needed to piss like a fucking racehorse. 

 

Breathing in sharply through his nose, he squeezed his thighs together, clenching his teeth nervously. He could get up now; in fact, that would probably be the best. But the blankets were so warm, and the couch-fort was so comfortable, and he was so  _ tired _ ...it could definitely wait. Maybe he could even rope Connor into dragging him to the bathroom. The wait would be worth not expending the effort, for sure. 

 

Yet the minutes passed by at a snail’s pace, and the pressure in Hank’s lower half grew by the minute. He had resorted to squirming around on the couch, biting his lip as he did his best to not think about how badly he needed to piss and how he wished Connor would hurry up and finish so he could go to the bathroom and  _ wow these thoughts were not helping him in the slightest at all. _ Tapping his foot like a particularly horny rabbit, he dug his fingers into his thigh, hissing through his teeth. He was a grown-ass man, he could hold it, he could hold it…

 

A terrible urge hit Hank, and he nearly gasped out loud as he nearly leaked on the couch. Oh, this was getting bad, and it was getting bad _real_ fast. Fuck pride, he was going to have a much bigger problem if he didn’t get Connor’s help. 

 

He sneezed suddenly, and a dribble of piss escaped as he shoved a hand between his legs. Another sneeze came, and then another; Hank rocked back and forth into his hand as the sneezing fit took over, small leaks coming out every now and then. He couldn’t tell if anything showed on his pants, but if the dampness of his hand was any indicator, he was in  _ big  _ trouble. 

 

“Connor,” he wheezed weakly, unable to speak over a whisper. Fuck that cough. There was no way the android could’ve heard him, even with an advanced audio processor. Oh god, he was about to piss, and there was no way in hell he could stop it. Hank was past the point of caring if he even made it; he just didn’t want to wet himself on the couch. 

 

“ _ Connor!” _ Hank finally croaked, loud enough to get the brunet’s attention. Connor rushed over, wide-eyed and scared, and took in the situation for a mere half-second before helping the older man up, completely carrying his weight as Hank leaned against him heavily.

 

“Okay, Hank,” the android said softly, “I’m taking you to the bathroom. You can make it, it’s not far.”

 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned in reply, struggling to even place one foot in front of the other. They stumbled through the hallway together, Hank having to stop frequently to keep from pissing himself. There,  _ there,  _ the bathroom door was in front of them,  _ finally—  _

 

And then the coughing started. 

 

Hank wheezed, instinctively covering his mouth, squeezing his legs desperately to keep anything from leaking out. The effort was completely fruitless; a steady dribble ran down his legs, punctuated with a longer spurt with every cough. Every so often, he heard the splatter of liquid on his floor (at least it wasn’t the carpet…), and he was vaguely aware of Connor rubbing his back. 

 

“Just let go, Hank,” he whispered, “you will hurt yourself if you keep holding it.” Hank didn’t need to be told twice, finally releasing full-force into his sweatpants. His legs gave out under him; had Connor not been basically carrying him at this point, he would’ve collapsed in a heap. He sighed throatily, turning into goo over the relief, sweet  _ relief. _ The stream started to die down into a weak trickle, and Connor righted him. Hank’s head swum at the change in position—god, he was tired—and he made to head back to the couch. Rest sounded  _ real  _ good right now. 

 

“Hank, no—oh god.  _ Hank, _ ” Connor chided, pushing the older man gently. “We’re going to the bathroom. You need to clean up.”

 

“Fuck off, I’m sleeping.”

 

“ _ Bathroom. Now. _ ” Oh shit, that was the bedroom voice. 

  
“Fuckin’ hell,  _ fine _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! <3


End file.
